How My OCD Has Evolved Over Time

For me, OCD has always been about cycles, contradiction, and chaos.

Introduction

I’ve had OCD for as long as I can remember, but the first time anyone picked up on it properly, I was taken to the doctor for rashes on my hands around the age of eight.

I remember trying to pass it off as something else. Dry skin, a reaction, anything but what it actually was. The doctor hardly even glanced at my hands before they said, quite plainly, that my cracked, oozing hands were likely from excessive handwashing.

I was exposed and instantly felt powerless.

If I was to sum up how OCD made me feel back then, it would be being caught in a quagmire and a hurricane at the same time. Suffocating me and dragging me down, while throwing me into a total destructive disarray. A chaotic, contradictory cycle, driven by a lack of control and an overwhelming need to create it.

Somewhat ironically, my forensic-level attention to detail that’s stood me in such good stead in my career as a freelance writer and marketer can likely be attributed to my OCD brain.

I’m now in my mid-twenties and was inspired to write this article to shed some light on less common forms of OCD. I also wanted to challenge the perception that talking candidly about the realities of mental health is ‘unprofessional’. You can thrive throughout your life with this disorder; the journey just isn’t a straight line. More squiggly.

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Early Signs

When I look back, it started earlier than that.

I was around three or four, and I remember having to run up the stairs in a certain way. If I didn’t do it properly, it felt like something terrible would happen. So, I’d do it again, and again, until it felt right.

Around that time, a child in my nursery suddenly died. I remember my mother saying something along the lines of there being nothing anyone could do. A similar sentiment with my parents’ divorce was that it wasn’t anyone’s fault and nothing could be done. It introduced me, quite early on, to the idea that things could go wrong without warning and without remedy. Looking back, that’s where the need to try and control things started to creep in.

I experienced a lot of change in my early years. I learned quickly that being “good” meant being easy, well-behaved, not causing problems. I was often praised at home and at school, so I was able to control how I was perceived, yet things outside of my control were still happening.

So, I started to realise that being “good” didn’t guarantee anything. That sense of control disappeared, and I began to crave it.

OCD can develop in childhood. The NHS suggests symptoms can begin from around age six, but anecdotal experiences like mine show this can be even earlier.

Childhood

As I got older, it became more visible.

I remember reading a book with a shiny laminate cover and my hands feeling wet when I touched it. They weren’t, but it felt real. That feeling wouldn’t go away.

So, I’d wash my hands, come back, touch it again, feel the same thing, and wash them again. Every few minutes, stuck in that loop for hours. This is just one example of many.

That’s how my childhood OCD felt. Like I was in the passenger seat and something else was driving.

How It Changed in My Teens

In my teens, it exploded.

I remember getting stuck on phrases like “touch wood”. Something people say without thinking suddenly felt like life or death.

If I wanted something to happen, or didn’t want something to happen, I’d feel like I had to touch wood a certain number of times while repeating phrases in my head. If it didn’t feel right, I’d start again.

My late teens and early twenties were probably the hardest. It wasn’t one theme at a time anymore. Health, moral, relationship, checking, contamination. All of it.

I could move through multiple forms of OCD in a single day, trying to resolve one thing before being pulled into something else. It felt constant, but more chaotic than before.

It started to affect everything. Socially, emotionally, academically, and in my career. It was no longer separate to me.

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The Cycle

Now, in my mid-twenties, it feels more predictable, even if it doesn’t feel easier.

There’s usually something that sets it off. Sometimes it’s obvious and sometimes it isn’t, but it’s usually centred around a lack of control, such as becoming unwell or how I’m being perceived in the workplace.

Then I latch onto something. It might be a specific symptom or something I’ve said.

I start going over it, trying to work it out, trying to get certainty. I replay things, search things, look for reassurance.

When I was younger, that was usually my mum. Now it’s more self-driven. I’ll search online, go down forum rabbit holes, and even use tools like ChatGPT to try and think it through.

OCD by nature is cyclical. A thought comes in, it creates anxiety, I try to resolve it, and I get a bit of relief. However, this doesn’t last long, and the cycle continues.

Where It Goes

It usually centres itself around things I care about.

For me, that’s often my family. Thoughts about something happening to my brother, or me somehow being responsible for something going wrong.

My OCD typically presents as an intolerance to uncertainty. It twists and manipulates a situation into something catastrophic, causing me to rely on compulsions centred around reassurance to feel safe again. I often joke, if AI does take over, they can carry on as my ChatGPT knows far too much!

A passing thought quickly turns into a question of whether I’ve done something wrong, whether there are consequences I haven’t considered, or whether I’m about to be judged in a way I can’t control. From there, I try to think my way out of it by analysing every detail, replaying conversations, or looking for reassurance, but it rarely settles things for long. Underneath it all is a strong sense of responsibility and a discomfort with the idea of getting something wrong.

What It Does to Me

The hardest part is how much it makes me question myself.

Not just the thoughts, but what they mean. Whether I meant something, whether I’m a good person, whether I can trust my own mind.

On one hand, it feels completely out of my control. On the other hand, it feels like I’m responsible for managing it.

When I was younger, I was told in cognitive behavioural therapy (CBT) to give OCD a name. Something silly, just to create distance from it (I think I went for Bernard in the end). I was sceptical of that at the time, but I understood the idea.

Calling my disorder something ridiculous helped to not only undermine it but separate it from my identity and regain a sense of self.

Where I’m At Now

Due to a cycle of CBT in childhood, private counselling as a young adult, and copious research on OCD, it now feels more like something I move in and out of. I have never been medicated for OCD, though I was prescribed some SSRIs (Sertraline) for if I wanted to try taking them (this was after a particularly bad flare-up a few years ago). I have not had to reach for them yet.

OCD is always there simmering away in the background. Running back to check the door one more time. Overthinking small things.

However, I can usually spot the early signs of a flare-up. The main feeling is chaos.

When things feel chaotic, that’s when OCD tries to pull everything back into control.

One of the first things that slips is looking after myself properly. Sleep, routine, basic things that usually keep me steady.

So, I try to pay attention to that.

There are times when my OCD builds and peaks and feels just as convincing as it always has.

It just doesn’t drag me down quite as far.

After all, it goes back to what my parents said all those years ago. There’s nothing that can be done, and it’s no one’s fault.